Not a Piece In Their Games
by Lauren Mockett
Summary: To be the ENTIRE SERIES in Peeta's P.O.V. From someone who truly knows and loves these books. 100% real dialogue, etc. Please take a look, and let me know what you think.
1. 1

"Oh no,". The words leap out of my throat before I realize I opened my mouth. Not little Primrose. Sweet, rosy, innocent Prim, who cares for everyone and everything, won't last a day in the Hunger Games... 'And she's Katniss' little sister...She's going to volunteer.'

No sooner does the thought cross my mind than Katniss Everdeen's desperate voice that pierces the tense silence.

"Prim!"she cries, "Prim!". The girls in her section part for her like leaves in the wind, as she sprints to her sister. "I volunteer!", she gasps, "I volunteer as tribute!,"

My heart thuds like a lump of burned coal to the bottom of my stomach. Katniss. The girl I've loved for as long as I can remember, is a tribute now.

Prim launches into hysterics, and the dark-haired boy Katniss loves comes up and carries the little girl, flailing, back into the crowd. Effie Trinket, the pink wigged escort from the Capitol, tinkles on and on in her stupid accent about stupid things until she finally tells us to applaud the fact that this brave young girl now belongs to the Capitol. My hands are frozen stiff at my sides. Every part of this is wrong. I will not support it. I brace myself for the smattering of hands smacking themselves together out of fear. But it doesn't come. The silence seems to echo with power. The only form of rebellion anyone dares to participate in.

Then, not far in front of me, three fingers raise determinedly into the blue summer sky. It's an symbol in District 12, older than it is rare. The last time I saw it done was the funeral for my father's father. He was a good man. More fingers are pressed to pursed lips, and raised high in the air. I follow suit. If anyone deserves this gesture, it's Katniss. It's the best courage we can muster, and I'm glad I'm not alone in my anger.

Before I can wonder if the Capitol will punish us for this, Haymitch, the only surviving District 12 victor, provides the perfect distraction. Stumbling drunk, he staggers across the stage and puts an arm around Katniss' shoulder. 'Don't touch her' I think angrily. But all he does is pay her a compliment, telling her she's got spunk... and more than the Capitol. Those few words take the crowd of kids and parents out of the line of fire, because that's the most dangerous thing anyone has said in a long, long time. I can only hope President Snow will blow it off because Haymitch is so obviously intoxicated. Seconds later he face-plants it off the stage. No one bothers to catch him.

As the Capitol's Cameras train themselves on Haymitch, Katniss lets out an almost impercievable sob. I'm sure I'm the only one that sees it, and it lasts only an instant before her face goes stony again. 'She's so strong,' I think, 'She could win,'. The thought puts a glimmer of hope back in my heart, and I'm thinking of her triumphant return, which for a moment seems almost possible, when I hear Effie Trinket calling my name.

"Peeta Mellark!". My legs are numbed by the shock, but somehow they drag me up onto that stage. The odds could not be less in my favor today. I know, as I shakily take my place opposite Katniss that I will not make it out of the arena alive. I will do my best to make sure she is the one to go home, and if it comes down to it, take my own life rather than hers. And no one will ever know how much I love her.


	2. 2

The anthem plays, but I don't hear it. I hardly notice the peacekeepers roughly dragging me into the Justice Building, or the velvet couch that I sit on waiting to see if my family will visit me. Nothing feels real anymore.

Turns out they do show up. A sure sign they have absolutely no faith in my return. My mother doesn't even cry. Her youngest kid is going off to fight to the death on live television, and all she says is, "Maybe District 12 will finally have a victor this year,". But I know she isn't talking about me. "She's a survivor that one,".

Balep and Bannock, my two older brothers, are both 18. One of them could have volunteered, but of course they didn't. They're twins, and if one of them had been reaped, the other wouldn't have hesitated to save the other. But what brotherly love they manage to reach all the way down to me is about as strong as the twigs that sweep the ground from the top of a very tall willow. They awkwardly tell me good luck, and they're sure all the girls will be fawning over me when I get back. The remark falls flat because we all know none of it will happen. I'll never see them again.

And then I'm encompassed in my father's brawny arms. When the unexpected tears come, I make no effort to stop them. I don't mind looking weak for the cameras, and the tears are a way I can show him I love him. My father who was the only person I knew I could always count on. The one who bought Katniss' squirrels and put ice on the bruises that were my mother's' handywork. He tells me the one thing I needed to hear. The words I wouldn't believe if they'd come from anyone else, "I love you son,". He says gruffly.

"I love you too dad,". I say, my face still squished into his arm. He lets go and holds me at arm's length.

"You've always been a good kid, Peeta," he says, "I want you to make me proud in the Capitol, and in the arena,". When I only answer with a puzzled face, he clarifies. "I know you don't plan on coming home to us," he tries and fails to choke back tears, "And that's ok...but I need you to promise me that...that you won't loose hold on what matters most to you. You belong to yourself Peeta. Remember that. Not to the Capitol," he pulls me in again, and ruffles my hair one last time before the peacekeepers come in to say our time is up.

Delly Cartwright shows up, but the usually vivacious girl is speechless in the shock and sadness of the moment.

"You're my best friend Delly,". I pat her leg in an attempt to comfort her, "Thanks for coming,".

"Oh Peeta!" She sighs, "How could I not?" She fiddles with her fingernails for a minute, then says wildly, "Peeta, you're strong. A lot of the tributes will be half starved like that poor Katniss Everdeen from the seam," she pauses. Good old Delly, finding the positive side to the situation. I don't have the heart to tell her I'm not even going to try to win. "And remember?" She brightens, "You're the third best wrestler in school. No one could beat you except Balep and Bannock!"

"Thanks Dell,". I say, lamely.

"Oh and frosting!" she exclaims.

"What?" I'm confused.

"You're a genius at cake decorating! I bet, if you wanted, you could paint yourself into a tree, and hack people off...with an ax or something... as they run by,".

I laugh humorlessly.

"Oh Peeta, it's disgusting isn't it," she half whispers. I nod my head. "It seems like just yesterday we were drawing with chalk in the street, and sneaking scraps from your dad's shop,".

"Well the last part was just yesterday,".

Now, surprisingly, we're both laughing real laughs. Delly has that talent. She somehow always manages to make me feel better. Even if it's just for a minute. I always wished she was my sister. If she had lived there, I know my parents' house would have been a happier place to be.

Soon though, Delly's time is up too, and the dark reality returns.I will protect Katniss Everdeen. I will not return.I try to focus on my father's last words. I belong to myself, not the Capitol. If I can die knowing that, I won't really mind at all.


	3. 3

I never realised how small District 12 was until I rode across it in a car. It would have taken hours to walk from the Justice Building to the train station. In a car, we get there in only 15 minutes.

At the station, my eyes still feel puffy. It must be obvious that I cried in the Justice Building, but I'm passed caring about any of that. Anyone who finds fault in a kid who has just said a final goodbye to his loved ones crying has serious issues. Katniss, of course, is stoic and stern. With her chin up, and eyes glaring. She looks like a victor already. The cameras flash in our faces for a minute, and then we're allowed onto the train, which immediately whisks us away, and my home disappears quick as summer.

As I take in the luxuriant furnishings of the train, I have one comforting thought. At least she'll have enough to eat here. One thing I learned growing up in a baker's shop is the fancier they look, the better bread they're willing to buy. I know Katniss will stay in her room till supper, so I do too. I don't fancy a lone chat with Effie and Haymitch. But my stomach isn't used to being without the company of food for long, and out of nerves, I haven't eaten today. Eventually I cave, and make my way to the dining table. I pass Haymitch in the hall, probably headed for his bed.

"Ah Peeta," Effie croons, "What a good boy you are, just in time for supper,". I try to give her a friendly smile, but I can't offer anything else. "Well. I suppose I'll have to go and fetch Katniss myself," she says, shaking her head disapprovingly. I sit down at a table covered in empty, fancy dishes, and wait. It's not long before Katniss walks confidently into the dining room in a simple dark green tunic that really works somehow, to make her look even more beautiful than usual. And then Effie Trinket clip-clops behind her, in her enormous heels and gaudy face paint. "Where's Haymitch?", she squeaks.

"Last time I saw him he was going to take a nap," I say.

"Well it's been a long day,".

It's like we're eating dinner after dinner after dinner. The waiters bring out a thick carrot soup. "Save room! Save room!," Effie reminds us, "There's more coming," Next in the paraid of food comes a green salad. "Save room! More coming!" Lamb chops and mashed potatoes. "Save room!". Cheese and fruit. "There's still more!" And finally a chocolate cake. I've never had food like this, and especially not this much, so I'm surprised how much Katniss is putting down. The only hint of conversation during the long meal is from Effie. Halfway through the meal she compliments us on our manners.

"The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion," She huffs. Katniss glares at her and for the rest of the meal, it's like she never saw a fork before in her life. By the end of the meal we're both sick, but I'm not in any danger of throwing up and making a splattered mess.

Effie leads us into another compartment where we sit down, and watch a recap of the 11 other reapings. I watch Katniss scrutinize each one, calculating strengths and weaknesses. But I can't do that. The huge boy from District 2 reminds me of my strong confident brothers. The boy from District 10 has a crippled foot. 'That shouldn't be allowed.' I think. A wisp of a girl from District 11 must be twelve, but she doesn't look older than nine. 'I won't kill these kids', part of me decides. 'But you have to,' another voice argues, 'if you want to help Katniss get home,'.

After they show our district Effie scolds us about Haymitch needing to shape up, as if it were our fault. I don't see what we can do about it, and decide to ignore her, but as if to prove her point, Haymitch staggers in, promptly vomits, and passes out in the mess. "So laugh away!" Effie screeches, and skitters out of the room.


	4. 4

For a minute we stand there staring; speechless and disgusted. Then, Katniss switches her focus to me. She doesn't say a thing, but I understand. Without a good mentor, we won't last. Haymitch isn't much, but I have the feeling he could be if we fix him up. It's won't be easy, but it'll be worth it.

"I tripped?" Haymitch slurs as we pull him to his feet, "Smells bad."

"Let's get you back to your room," I coax, "Clean you up a bit."

Katniss is about as tense as a wooden plank. Her mother runs an apothecary shop, but I guess she takes after her father in this too. When we've got him into the tub and turned the water on I say, "It's okay. I'll take it from here,". Her shoulders relax, and she almost smiles.

"Alright," She says, "I can send one of the Capitol people to help you."

"No," I say, " I don't want them,". I don't like that their job is to take care of us. People should take care of other people because they love them, or not at all. Anyway, it makes me feel like some Capitol jerk, ordering people around because he's lazy.

The mess reeks of stale alcohol and whatever else was inside Haymitch. I hold my breath as I use the flexible showerhead to hose him down. Our mentor remains a limp noodle as I finish washing him off with soap, and struggle to put a fresh pair of sweats on him. Now comes the hard part: lifting him onto the enormous bed.

I squat low, and position my hands as spread apart under his body as I can. The Flour sacks back home might weigh almost as much as Haymitch, but they're all stiff, and concentrated in one bundle. 'One. Two. Three.' I count in my head and lift with my legs. I can feel every muscle straining as I get him off the ground and bounce him off my knees and into the bed.

He'll probably be bruised tomorrow, from all the rough handling, but I did my best, and at least he's in bed. He'll need his rest for tomorrow, if I have anything to say about it. Tomorrow, we'll force him to be the mentor we need.

As I make my way back to my room, I pause by Katniss's door, and just stand there listening, pretending I can hear her breathe. 'I'll always be here for you Katniss.' I think, and roll my eyes at my own hopelessness. I wake up early the next morning, get dressed, and head to the breakfast table, where I hope Haymitch will turn up eventually. Immediately the smell of hot pastries makes my mouth water. I forget all about last night's dinner. I'm starving. I head to the counter laden with doughnuts, rolls, danishes, and an enormous decorative pitcher of a steaming brown liquid. I pile my silver plate with every kind of food my mother wouldn't let us waste on ourselves. 'only for customers!' she would say, and slap my hand away. Now I'm almost giddy as I sit down and stuff my face with the sweet, flaky things.

A Capitol servant passes by, and I opt not to ignore him this time. "Hey," I tap his shoulder.

He looks surprised, but answers, "Yes, Mr. Mellark?".

"What's this stuff?" I point to the pitcher.

He laughs, like I just asked him what country we lived in. "That's called hot chocolate sir,". He smirks, and walks swiftly out of the compartment.

Well it sounds good. I pour myself a big mug and sit down at the table, dipping my rolls, and waiting for Haymitch.

But it isn't Haymitch that shows his face first. Effie Trinket comes around the corner in a slightly less ostentatious outfit than yesterday, patting her wig uncertainly. "Enjoying the breakfast buffet are we?," she asks. It's probably a dig about the city of pastries on my plate, but I don't care. Any extra weight will be an asset in the games.

Seconds later Haymitch walks in and sits down next to Effie. As soon as he does, she stands and walks out of the compartment, probably to get Katniss. He looks at me, "Something fuzzy in the back of my mind tells me you put me to bed last night. Real nice of you,". This puts a twist on the situation. Maybe Haymitch won't have to be coerced into doing his job. I try to swallow my half-chewed bit of roll so I can answer him, but it gets caught in my throat. I cough it back into my throat. "Chew your food boy!" Haymitch laughs, "I can't have you dying on me before the opening ceremonies," he swigs his drink, "Oh, and by the way, kissing up won't score you any points with me,".

My mouth stops moving. Did he really think that's why I did it? What did he want me to do? Leave him lying in his own vomit? Or worse: make Katniss do it? I can feel my cheeks burning, but luckily I'm saved the effort of answering him because Effie walks back in with Katniss trailing behind in the same outfit she wore yesterday. Her eyes look tired.

"Sit down! Sit down!" Haymitch orders. As soon as she's seated, waiters appear out of nowhere with steaming platters of eggs, ham, and fried potatoes. They bring out more hot chocolate-good. Mine's gone- coffee, and fruit too. I set aside my baked goods for now. The ham is making me salivate.


	5. 5

I take a glance at Katniss. She's just as bewildered by the hot chocolate as I was. "They call it hot chocolate," I tell her, "it's good,". Uncertain and wary as always, Katniss takes a tiny sip, but when the liquid hits her tongue, I know she loves it. Before she even bothers about the rest of breakfast, she downs the whole mug, and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. It's so good to see her eating like this. Sometimes at night, I'm still haunted by the image of the 11-year-old Katniss, close to dying in front of our house.

That rainy day, my mother was in a very bad mood. Almost no one had come to the shop that day due to the terrible weather. We were restocking our shelves that day, instead of filling orders, so the fire-heated ovens were full of new loaves. My eyes were burning from standing over the smoke, so I snuck a glance out the back door window. That's when I saw her. Her cheeks were hollow, and her grey eyes so hungry they seemed to swallow me whole. She stood staring at the light from our fire. Probably freezing and soaked in the rain. I hadn't seen her at school for days, and I'd assumed she and her family were still mourning her father. I had no idea things had gotten so bad.

A plan occurred to me. "Mother?," I said tentatively, "We have a lot of extra loaves today,". Being ignored is a good sign, coming from her, so I continued, "Can I take some to that girl out there?"

"Idiot boy!" she yelled, "We never have extra bread. Everything we don't sell tomorrow will be sold the next day, unless it's burnt black." my mother stormed out the screen door, slamming it behind her. As soon as she'd turned her back, I took the two biggest, best loaves I'd made that day, and dropped them in the fire. I remember watching the bread slowly being ruined and dreading, but not caring, what my mother would do. As soon as the crust was dark enough, I used the coal-clamp to pull it out. Right on cue my mother returned, soaking wet, but satisfied. I could only hope she didn't hurt her.

I'll never forget the look on her face, when she saw me anxiously pulling the black bread out of the fire. Usually, she only hit me with her hands. That day, her anger completely took over. She snatched the hot clamp and swung it at my face. I didn't duck fast enough. I remember the pain, but my head was pounding from anger as she shoved me into the street.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one else would buy burned bread!"

My blood boiled at her words. 'So the pig can have it, but not the starving little girl sitting right across the road?'. As if she knew what I was thinking, she stood there on our porch with hands on hips until I started throwing chunks of bread to the fat animal. When she finally left, satisfied, I hurriedly threw the remaining bread to Katniss, not daring to look at her, and went back inside.

At the time I thought I was a hero. Now, I know I was a coward. Why didn't I do more? There was so much that I could have done. If they'd all died, it would have been my fault, and now, somehow, I have to keep her safe.


	6. 6

I flick my attention back to Haymitch. He's throwing back gulp after gulp of some spirit. Before he can get any further, I open my mouth to stop him, but before I can get any words out, Katniss does the job for me.

"So you're supposed to give us advice," she glares at him.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive," Haymitch bursts out laughing. Katniss and I exchange a look. I'm determined not to let her down this time.

"That's very funny," I say to Haymitch, and without warning my hand shoots across the table, sending his glass flying into the wall behind him. "Only not to us." The liquor has made his reactions slow, but his fist still manages to make sharp contact with my jaw. The force of the blow knocks me off my chair, and I can see stars popping in front of my face. But I'm used to this kind of thing.

By the time I can see clearly again, Haymitch seems won over, and Katniss's sausage knife is stuck in the table.

"Well what's this?" Haymitch asks, "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

We work out a deal so that, as long as we don't mess with his drinking habits, he'll stay sober enough to help us. It's not exactly what I had in mind, but it'll do for now. He pokes and prods us like animals for a minute, then finally decides we'll be slightly worth his effort. Katniss tries to get some specific pointers out of him, but nothing doing. He tells us not to resist our stylists, which isn't a big deal to me, but apparently makes her nauseous, and leaves the compartment.

I let out a sigh of relief. We actually have a half-decent mentor now. Suddenly, the train slows down, and bright, colorful buildings are all around us. Despite our mutual hatred for the Capitol and it's ways, we both run to the window. The city is even better than the version broadcasted on TV. The colors are brighter, the skyscrapers are taller, and the fashions are even more insane.

My stomach churns at the rainbow colored people, pointing and waving at our train. It's like we're animals without feelings or importance. They can't wait to watch the drama of our deaths play out. But they could play an important role themselves in Katniss's fate. So I wave, and smile, and pretend I'm every bit as stupid and self centered as they are. I only stop when we've pulled safely out of sight into the station.

Katniss doesn't say anything, but her eyes ask the question: Are you seriously encouraging these people?

"Who knows?" I ask, "One of them may be rich," She nods, and turns away. Is she angry that I'm trying to get us sponsors? She must understand how important they are. I only hope we have a halfway competent pair of stylists.


	7. 7

My prep team doesn't have much work to do. I'm simply scrubbed, and told to soak in some clean smelling chemicals, then left in a white robe for my stylist. Nervousness tingles up and down my spine as I sit on a blue leather couch and await the person who will be deciding how to present me to the entire country today.

Since District 12 tributes don't usually last long in the arena's, no one wants to waste the good stylists on us. We usually end up with rejects who are either just starting, or are one step away from being fired. But as soon as she walks in, I know my stylist is at least not an idiot. The confidence of someone who knows what they're doing seems to jump off of her and make me trust her. Apart from her neon orange lips, and massive afro, she looks ordinary enough. And although the shoes she's wearing could compete with Effie's, she's wearing a professional looking pants suit.

"Hello Peeta!" she says sharply, holding out her hand for me to shake, "I'm Portia, you're stylist. It's my first year here, but I assure you you're in good hands." Inexplicably, I believe her. "And besides," she smiles, looking me up and down, "Even a monkey could make you look good. Let's get started, shall we?"

I'm a little embarrassed by her comment. I'm not ugly, but I've never thought of myself as particularly good looking. Then it occurs to me that Portia was simply trying to break the ice; make me feel a little more comfortable. That's what I'd do, if I was in her shoes. I shake off all stiffness, and try to return her friendship, "You flatter me. I can't wait to get started,".

"Alright," she says, clapping her hands, "So you know how it works right? We're supposed to dress you in something that resembles your district. Seafare for District 4, lumber for District 7,"

"Mining for District 12,". I finish her sentence glumly, but this doesn't seem to discourage Portia at all. In fact, she looks excited.

"Exactly," she beams, "And my partner Cinna and I have the _perfect_ idea. You and your fellow tribute Katniss will be coordinating," she takes in an excited breath, "And you're literally going to be on fire!". She shakes her hands, like I'm supposed to be excited about burning to death before we even set foot in the arena. Any thoughts I had about Portia being good at this, trustable even, vanish into thin air.

"Are you insane?" I ask standing up, but then I remember what Haymitch said about not resisting our stylists, and I take a deep breath before I continue in a more polite tone of voice. "I'm sorry Portia, could you please explain in more detail?".

Portia's neon lips have been persed together in an effort to keep a straight face, but now, she bursts out laughing. Maybe she really _is_ insane. She doesn't stop laughing for what seems like hours, but finally she sits up, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. It was too funny. But Peeta, I don't want you to worry about a thing. It's a synthetic flame that I came up with, well alright Cinna helped a bit. Anyway, you won't feel a thing, and you'll be dazzling. For once District 12 won't be forgotten,".


	8. 8

**Author's Note: Sorry, I know it's been forever, but here you go. Also this may be a bit cheesy. Please critique.**

A few hours later Katniss and I are dressed in matching skin-tight black jumpsuits, and I'm having a hard time averting my eyes from her even without Cinna's synthetic flames. Her hair is in her usual long braid down her back, and her face isn't obscured by pounds of makeup. I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that after the opening ceremonies, it'll be impossible for her to be without sponsors.

Portia, and my team meet up with the other preppers, and giggle obnoxiously about their success. They deserve to be excited, I guess, with all the hard work they've put in, but I can't help resenting them for it, if only a little. Portia is not a friend, I remind myself. She's just like the others, she only sees you as another step, a piece on her game-board to success.

A capitol servant whisks us down to the stable of the Remake Center and onto our respective chariots. When Katniss and I are in position, Portia and Cinna dive in for finishing touches, draping fiery looking capes over our shoulders, and plunking red and orange flame headdresses on our foreheads.

When they leave, finally satisfied with their work, Katniss asks, "What do you think about the fire?"

She's worried sick. Katniss would believe anything of these people. "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I joke. But she thinks I'm serious.

"Deal," she says, "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what he said, but I don't think he considered this angle,".

She can't really think they'd let some psycho burn up two tributes before the games even start. I trust Cinna and Portia. As far as Capitol people go, they're downright geniuses. But what if she's right?

"Where is Haymitch anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?"

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," she says. She's laughing now, and just that makes me feel better.

The music starts, and the enormous doors, once shielding us from the Capitol, obediently open up. We're all thiers now. We watch the pairs of tributes leave us, one by one, to parade about the City Circle. Just as District 11 leaves, Cinna comes up with a flaming torch. "Here we go then," he says, and before we can even think of ripping our capes off, they're on fire. I hear Katniss gasp beside me, but I'm not worried. The flames just feel like a soft spring breeze. Next lit are our headdresses. Cinna sighs, relieved, "It works,". What would he have done if it hadn't, I wonder. But from his next gesture, I know Cinna is at least not evil. His hand cups Katniss's chin as he coaches us. "Remember, heads high, smiles. They're going to love you!"

Cinna dismounts the chariot and yells one last tip, "Oh! And I want you to hold hands!" I look over at Katniss. The flames suit her so well, it's almost unbelievable. I'm happy to follow Cinna's orders, but she's squinting through the bright light like she can't make out what he said.

"What's he saying?" she asks.

"I think he said for us to hold hands." I take her hand, and look to Cinna for confirmation. He gives us a sign of approval, and the horses pull the chariot into the city.

In no time at all, the crowd is chanting, "District 12! District 12!". The other chariots are forgotten. Every surgically enhanced eye is locked on us, and I find, I'm not nervous at all. I keep myself steady, and allow Katniss to lean on me a bit and steady her nerves. At the same time I'm smiling wildly, pretending this is the time of my life, and all the people I'm waving at are idols of mine.

I wonder if Balep and Bannock will smirk, seeing me holding Katniss's hand. I wonder if my father will be proud. I remember him saying something about not letting them change me... I don't think I have, even if I am covered in artificial fire. Standing next to Katniss Everdeen is right where I've always wanted to be. But standing next to her in a fight to the death? Definitely not. 'So why are you smiling and waving like their pet monkey?' I ask myself.

Suddenly a red rose comes flying through the air. Katniss catches it as deftly as if it were a knife and sniffs it delicately. That's when I remember. I'm not smiling and waving because the Capitol is forcing me to. I'm smiling and waving to try to keep the love of my life safe. And that's something they can never change. I will always love Katniss Everdeen.

She loosens her grip on my fingers, and brings me back to reality. I hadn't realized how tightly she was squeezing until now, but I don't mind it. "No, don't let go of me," I say. She narrows her brows, so I fabricate an excuse. "Please. I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," she agrees, her misty grey eyes sparkling in the firelight. And oddly, stupidly, I feel lucky to have this girl by my side, at least for one night. But I can't help but wonder what Cinna's motives were in telling us to hold hands. I shake the thought away quickly though, because what Cinna and Portia have done for us so far has made us the stars of the show. No one, not even the cameras can take their eyes off of us all through President Snow's speech.

When we're back inside, Portia sprays off our flames, and Katniss lets go of my hand.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there." I tell her.

"It didn't show," she assures me, "I'm sure no one noticed,"

I chuckle. "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you." I can't help but smile, taking in her beauty. Katniss is always stunning, but with the flames lighting up her features, she might have been from another world. Then for some reason, her cheeks darken and she looks down. I don't remember ever seeing Katniss blush before. But it's short lived. When she looks back up, her eyes are so steely, I'm wondering if she's going to slap me. Instead, she reaches up on tiptoe, and kisses my cheek.

The warmth of her touch send chills running up and down my spine, and every inch of me craves more. But confusion and surprise overwhelm everything else, and I'm stuck with led feet, while Katniss scampers off to talk to Cinna.


	9. 9

Throughout the trip from the City Circle to the Training Center Effie Trinket blabbers on about how absolutely everyone in the Capitol loved us, and how we shouldn't worry because coal turns to pearls or some such nonsense. I just smile and nod, because I'm not really paying attention. I rest my elbow on the car window, and then the elevator wall, and put my chin in my hand so that my fingers are touching the spot that Katniss kissed. I can't help but hope that her actions mean that she feels something for me in return. I find myself unable to pull my eyes from her until we go to our separate rooms. Luckily, she's too distracted by the luxuriant tributes quarters to notice.

And I can't blame her. Even the carpets and light fixtures are jaw dropping. In my room, there are so many buttons to press it's overwhelming. It's been a long day, and I'm tired. I took my first shower on the train ride here, and I'm thrilled to find that not only does my room have it's own shower, but a very fancy one with hundreds of settings. I take off my clothes, press a few buttons, and hop in. The endless hot water is addicting, and I feel like I could spend hours in here, but Effie will probably want me for dinner soon, so I step onto a mat, get dressed again, and head to the dining room.

Portia and Cinna are holding hands, staring out a window at the breathtaking view of the capitol when I come into the room. Not wanting to break the moment, I quickly take my seat at the long, shining table and hope I wasn't noticed. But I was.

"Ah Peeta!" Portia says, grinning.

"Hi" I say, jumping back up, and walking toward them.

"Portia and I were just saying how lucky it is that District 12 is assigned the top floor of the training center," Cinna says, "Isn't it beautiful?" he adds, gesturing out the window. He's right. The light from the moonlight is bouncing off the polished skyscrapers, and the sky is such a deep shade of blue it's almost black. If I pretend, for a moment, that this isn't a city full of people who can't wait to watch children kill each other on live television, then yes, I can see what Cinna is saying.

"Yes," I say, and examine the two smiling, tranquil faces. They don't fit in with the cookie cutter capitol people I usually imagine. Unfeeling, stupid, selfish. I wish I could do something for them. "Hey," I smile at them, "Thank you both, for helping us so much. You didn't have to do that. You really went out of your way to make us stand out, and you succeeded. From the way things went tonight, I'm positive Katniss and I will not be sponsorless, and it's all due to the two of you."

Portia is blushing. "Awe! Peeta honey!"

"Really Peeta," Cinna says, "It's our pleasure and our job to help you succeed. You're very kind to thank us." I nod. Not because I agree, but because I sense a cautious tone in his voice. I've said too much. With the walls in the Capitol all bugged, you never know what the President might pick up on. "Peeta," Cinna says as if a sudden idea has struck him, "Have you seen the roof yet? It's an even more impressive view, and I think the fresh air would be nice before dinner. Don't you?"

I'm a little taken aback, but I agree. Portia says she'll stay behind, "She's afraid of heights," Cinna informs me, as we walk back down the hall, and up a single flight of stairs.

I can't help gasping as I step onto the flat rooftop. It's not the added height that makes such a difference, but the absence of glass between me and the world. I want to capture each piece of silvery light; every dark blue cloud, and hold on to them forever, and look back at them when everything looks black.

Then suddenly, a wild idea flashes across my mind. The Capitol really are a bunch of idiots. If I get Katniss up here with me...and a bunch of blankets and clothes...you can get as many as you want here simply by pressing a button. We could escape. I run to the edge and look over the short wall to gauge the distance.

"Cinna?" I ask "Why would they let tributes up here, aren't they worried we'll just..."

"Jump off the edge?." Cinna's standing with his hands behind his back, looking at me with a pained expression on his face.

"What do you mean?"

He walks over to stand beside me. Then he stretches out his hand and quickly waves it through the air a few inches from the roof's edge. A snapping noise immediately follows, and Cinna pulls his hand back. "You can't." he says. There's a silence between us as I try not to let my disappointment show. "So I just want you to know, that if you ever need to talk to anyone...privately...this is the prime spot."

I furrow my brows. "No one's watching?"

Cinna looks out at the sky, thinking. "I suppose anything's possible, but I would assume this to be a safe spot. Especially the garden. The wind-chimes make such lovely music."

I half smile. "Well thank you again then."

"No problem at all. But let's hurry back for dinner. I'm starving."

'No you're not' I think. But he means well. I decide to trust Cinna.


	10. 10

Katniss arrives, and then Haymitch, and we all sit down to eat, and to talk about our strategies for the next part of the games. The young people serving us are unnaturally silent as they glide from place to place, keeping our cups and plates full. When dinner is through, a beautiful red-haired girl places a delicious looking cake in the center of the table, and I'm surprised and amazed, when she makes it burst into flames. They die down soon, and when they do, the cake is still in perfect condition. More of Cinna and Portia's special fire, I assume.

"What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?" Katniss asks from across the table, "That's the last thing I wa - oh! I know you!" she blurts out. True shock, confusion, and something else, are evident on her face. Something about this girl is causing Katniss pain. But I don't understand. How could she know her?

"Don't be ridiculous Katniss! How could you possibly know an Avox?" snapps Effie. "The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks, echoing my thoughts.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue out so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

So this girl betrayed the Capitol? I didn't know anyone did that. I feel a deepened respect for this girl, and I want to help her somehow. Why would they cut her tongue out? So she couldn't spread her beliefs? Or so she couldn't tell anyone what else they did to her? Probably both. Suddenly, even though the cake in front of me smells scrumptious, my appetite has vanished.

"...of course you don't really know her," Effie is saying when my mind returns to the conversation.

Katniss stirs her mushrooms with her fork. "No, I guess not, I just-" she stammers.

"Delly Cartwright." I say, snapping my fingers "That's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." The lie was easy, and Katniss catches on quickly, even though it's far from true. I haven't thought about my lumpy, smiley, childhood friend since I got on that train, and I'm surprised to find her name is still in my mental filing cabinet.

But Katniss is smart. "Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair." she says.

"Something about the eyes too." I agree, pretending to analyze the poor girl's features.

"Oh, well if that's all it is," says Cinna, obviously relieved, "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it specially in honor of your fiery debut."

The cake is delicious, and I eat three whole pieces before we move into another room to watch a recap of the opening ceremonies. None of the districts are to be pitied for their stylists this year, but we are obviously the favorites.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch.

"Cinna's." Portia is quick to say.

"Just the perfect touch of rebellion." says Haymitch. "Very nice."

That word sends a stab of excitement and anxiety into my heart. You belong to yourself, dad told me, not to the Capitol. I know now what he meant. And I know I'm going to make him proud.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast, and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," Haymitch says to us. "Now go get some sleep while the grown ups talk.

Katniss and I walk down the hall to our separate quarters. I'm itching to say something to her. Anything. But I can't think. Then, when we get to her door, a split second impulse makes me lean on the frame of it and say, "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here."

She stops in her tracks, hesitating. Whatever explanation Katniss has for her recognition of this Avox girl can not be safe for him to hear. We need to talk somewhere absolutely private. "Have you been on the roof yet?" I ask. She shakes her head, not getting it, so I throw in someone I know she trusts more than me, and deepen the hint. "Cinna showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud though."

"Can we just go up?" she asks. Now she understands.

"Sure, come on." I say, and lead her up onto the roof, and out to the edge.

After I explain about the invisible electric wall she asks, "Do you think they're watching us now?"

I remember what Cinna said about the garden, and suggest we go there. The garden is probably stunning in daylight, but for now all we can see are the dark silhouettes of flowers and small trees. But the wind is picking up, and the many wind chimes will be enough to drown out our hushed conversation.


	11. 11

"We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden. Waiting for game."

"You and your father?" I ask, trying to make the picture in my mind as accurate as possible.

"No. My friend Gale. Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it."

She pauses for a second. Her fingers freeze on a shadowy petal as even her body becomes lost in this dark memory. I wait as patiently as I can, but I don't quite understand. I want the whole picture.

"The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere," she continues, "I mean, one moment the sky was empty, and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up fast. So fast like an elevator. They shot some sort of spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm certain he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. His name I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air. And the birds began to sing again as if nothing had happened."

I feel the spear for the boy, but the girl is the one I truly pity. At least for him it was over quickly. He didn't have to watch her suffer. Like I'll have to watch Katniss.

"Did they see you?" I ask her.

"I don't know. We were under a shelf of rock." she replies, starting to shake.

"You're shivering," I say, and carefully put my jacket around her bony shoulders. She looks so small under the big, boxy thing. "They were from here?" I ask, fastening a button around her neck. It's the best feeling I know, taking care of her, even in the smallest ways. But it's not enough. Until she's safe, it will never be enough. She nods, in answer to my question. "Where do you suppose they were going?" I ask. They didn't think they'd make it in the wilderness did they?

"I don't know that," she says, "or why they would leave here."

"I'd leave here," I say edgily. Does she not understand how sickening life would be in the Capitol, to someone who had their head screwed on even a little straight? I don't think I could handle it. But suddenly what I just said catches up with me, and the thought of how unsure I am if this place really is spy-free makes me fake a laugh and say, "I'd go home now if they let me, but you have to admit, the food's prime."

It was stupid, coming up here and making her tell me this. She could have been heard, and that story would have made us both Avoxes, at least. "It's getting chily. We'd better go in," I say. We're back inside, and my thoughts turn to Gale. She called him her friend. I decide I want to know exactly where she stands with him. Just to know. "Your friend Gale. He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"Not really. I hear the other girls talking about him a lot. I thought he was your cousin or something. You favor each other." It's half true. They do have the same classic seam coloring, but I definitely knew they weren't related.

"No, we're not related."

"Did he say goodbye to you?"

She's watching me closely now. "Yes...so did your father. He brought me cookies."

I don't hide my surprise. "Really? Well, he likes your sister. I think he wishes he had a daughter instead of a housefull of boys." But was that why? Or was it... "He knew your mother when they were kids." I add.

"Oh yes," she says, "she grew up in town."

The door to her room sneaks up on me. "See you in the morning then," she says and, handing me my jacket.

"See you," I reply. Katniss smiles a sweet, sad smile that somehow makes my hand move to the cheek she kissed as I turn, and walk down the hall.


	12. 12

Katniss and I are in the games. Hiding between two desert rocks. "Peeta, I need to tell you something before, in case..." she trails off. "I love you," she says suddenly. I close my eyes, and just feel her arms around me, right before the huge boy from District 1 throws an ax into her skull. She screams in agony, and her scarlet blood floods from her body to mine until she falls, limp as a dead flower, from my arms. And now I'm screaming, and the sound wakes me up, shaking uncontrollably.

Reality slowly sinks in, but I still have to be sure. I bolt from my room, and down the hall to hers. Holding my breath, I silently turn the door handle. The silverish light from the hallway seeps in, and I can breathe again. Katniss is peaceful. Safe, for now.

I don't return to my bed. I wouldn't be able to sleep now anyway. Instead, I set my shower to plain old hot water, with the water pressure turned up to maximum, and stand under the torrent, letting the water pound me into numbness. I don't know exactly how long I stayed there, but by the time I'm ready to dry off and join the real world again, the sun is rising.

"Morning kid," Haymitch greets me in the hallway, and we walk together into the dining area where Katniss is already eating. She and I are matching again, wearing long-sleeved maroon shirts and black pants. While mine are baggy and full of useless pockets and zippers, hers are skin tight, and I can't help but stare at her legs. The matching outfits strike me as odd though. Usually we're allowed to choose our own clothes. But I guess they'll want us to keep up the 'team' image for training.

Haymitch finishes his fifth helping of lamb stew with a satisfied sigh and says, "So let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

"Why would you coach us separately?" Katniss asks.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch.

Katniss and I glance at each other. "I don't have any secret skills," I admit, "And I already know what yours is right? I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

She looks surprised for a minute, then agrees. "You can coach us together," She says to Haymitch. I nodd. I'm so impressed with Haymitch's ability to keep his promise to us. He's been so sober lately, it's hard to tell he's the same guy who face planted in his own vomit just a few days ago.

"Alright. So give me some idea of what you can do," Haymitch prods.

"I can't do anything," I say. "Unless you count baking bread." It's true. Once the games start, I'm going to be about as useful as burned bread, and besides, if Haymitch knows there's nothing promising about me, he'll have to focus everything-planning, sponsors, tactics-on her.

"Sorry. I don't. Katniss, I already know you're handy with a knife," Haymitch says.

"Not really," she answers, "But I can hunt. With a bow and arrow."

"Are you good?" Haymitch asks.

"I'm alright," she answers, predictably talking herself down. I usually admire that in her, but now is definitely not the time.

"She's excellent," I cut in, "My father buys her squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. She hits every one in the eye. It's the same with the rabbits she sells to the butcher. She can even bring down deer." There you go Haymitch, chew on that for a while.

"What are you doing?" Katniss asks me like I'm licking the walls, or something maniacally crazy.

"What are you doing?" I counter, "If he's going to help you, he has to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself."

To my surprise and embarrassment, she has a comeback too. "What about you?" she asks, "I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred pound bags of flour. Tell him that. That's not nothing." The fact that she's seen me in the market takes me by complete surprise. I've always felt invisible to her. But words are something I'm good at.

"Yes, and I'm sure the arena will be full of bags of flour for me to chuck at people. It's not like being able to use a weapon. You know it isn't"

"He can wrestle," she's ignoring me completely now, "He came in second in our school competition last year, only after his brother."

"What use is that? How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I ask

"There's always hand to hand combat. All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!"

"But you won't!" I'm reassuring myself more than her, but I think we both need to hear it. " You'll be living up in some tree eating raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows. You know what my mother said to me when she came to say good-bye, as if to cheer me up, she says, maybe District 12 will finally have a winner. Then I realized, she didn't mean me, she meant you!"

"Oh, she meant you," Katniss says dismissively.

"She said 'she's a survivor that one' She is" That hurt. Saying it out loud, in front of Katniss, and Haymitch, and knowing that not only does my mother not expect me to come home, but that she doesn't care.

Katniss freezes, believing me. "But only because someone helped me," Her reply is quiet, and bare like the little girl in the rain. My eyes flick from the roll in her hands back to her eyes. Those eyes that are still so hollow they swallow me up every time I look at them. And I know, just like me, those Capitol sponsors will be hers, and hers alone. "People will help you in the arena," I say. "They'll be tripping over each other to sponsor you."

"No more than you," There she goes again.

I roll my eyes at Haymitch, exasperated. "She has no idea. The effect she can have." By now she has to have figured out my secret, but I had to say it. Haymitch has to know. I trace a wood vein on the table, looking at anything but her. I don't want to see what she thinks of the discovery. Whatever her feelings are toward me, they can't be good. After all, in her mind, we're against each other.

Haymitch makes us soak in our mess of words for an excruciating string of minutes before he says, "Well, well, well, Katniss, there's no guarantee there'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the gamemakers, show them what you can do. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"I know a few basic snares," she mutters.

"That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch, "And Peeta. She's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?"

We nod.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute."

"Wait why?" I ask, amid Katniss's adamant objections.

"Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You need to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Katniss storms into her bedroom slamming the door behind her.

"Well, I'll say one thing for that girl. She's got quite a temper," laughs Haymitch, slugging back some light brown bubbly liquid. He says it as if it's her only redeeming quality. But for me it's the most confusing. I can't understand why she's so angry. Obviously, life hasn't been kind to her, especially lately. But is that Haymitch's fault? Or mine? I sigh, thank Haymitch, and head to my own room.


	13. 13

**Sorry, it's been quite a while. What can I say, I'm busy, and working on wrapping up the third novel in my original fiction series. But anyway, here you go.**

Training is crucial for tributes like me. Tributes who haven't had to fight for survival all their lives, but haven't had the luxury time to be a Career. All I can do is work hard, and try to learn fast.

The training room is basically a huge gymnasium. But with obstacle courses and weapons and stations for food testing and trap making. The other tributes are as tense and stiff as Katniss and I, and clustered together in a tight circle. Although it's only 9:50 we're the last ones to arrive.

When we join the group, a tall, muscular woman introduces herself. "Good morning tributes. My name is Atala, and I will be your head trainer for the next few days." Her voice is crisp, like Effie's, but stronger, and her whole presence commands authority. "I want to make one thing clear," she says to the ringing silence, You will engage in absolutely no physical contact with any other tribute during training."

For some reason, she looks specifically at me, which makes several other heads turn. For a minute, I'm confused. Then I remember my bruised cheek. 'Thanks a lot, Haymitch' I think.

Atala continues, " You likely noticed the various stations around the room. You may visit any and all that you like, but I do suggest you keep to your mentor's instructions." She finishes her speech by reading out a list of every station while someone pins fabric district numbers on our backs. I'm overwhelmed. I thought I had a lot to learn. I was wrong. I have everything to learn. Each station presents is a daunting task, and I have no idea where to start. But I have Katniss to consider too. For now, I'll let her take charge.

"Where would you like to start?" I ask, nudging her shoulder.

"Suppose we tie some knots," she says.

"Right you are," I agree.

Turns out knot tying is easier than I thought. Soon, Katniss and I have both mastered a trap made entirely of one rope that the trainer says will leave anyone who walks by dangling upside down. Easy prey from there. I grimace at the thought of killing someone in such an unfair, shifty way, but I have to keep my priorities straight.

Next she leads me over to the camouflage station, and it turns out, I'm actually really good at it. I know I'll never have time for this in the actual games, but for right now, I just enjoy myself. I use the juices from berries, leaves, and mud to make my arm into a tree, some vines, and a patch of grassy dirt. The instructor is absolutely thrilled with my skill, and I even think I've impressed Katniss.

"I do the cakes," I tell her.

"What? What cakes?"

Oh. Maybe not so impressed. "At home. The iced ones. For the bakery," I say awkwardly.

She looks more carefully at the design on my arm, scrutinizing the details. I'm starting to think how terrible it actually is, how much better I could make it, when she says, "It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death."

The insult stings. A lot. So I cover up with a joke. "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you may find in the arena. Say it's actually a gigantic cake-"

"Say we move on."

So we spend the next three days of training in silence. Moving from station to station without speaking a word to each other. Except at lunch. It would seem forced to be sitting next to each other but not speaking. It would give away the falsity of our friendship. But no matter how much I hate the hours of stiff silence, we both learn a lot, and my confidence is growing. We learn how to start fires, throw knives, and build shelters. Katniss is a genius at the edible foods test, and, without really trying, I pin the trainer four times in hand to hand combat.

The gamemakers, who've been here since the beginning, up above us, watching, feasting, whispering and taking notes, have been keeping close tabs on us. I keep a low profile, so their attention will stay on Katniss, but I really don't have to do much. They're obsessed with her. It's like she's got some kind of natural spotlight following her around. But it strikes me that that might not be such a good thing in the long run. The gamemakers tend to be sadistic maniacs. Very educated ones, but none the less psychotic. If a certain tribute stands out, they often end up torturing them during the games, to make for more of a show.

Lunchtime. My stomach turns. Not that I'm not hungry. I am. Very. But lunch means that Katniss and I will have to speak to each other. She usually waits for me to take the initiative, and I'm running out of topics to choose from. Yesterday, I ended up dumping out our bread basket, and explaining in detail about all the types of bread. Boring, but safe. Talking about the past is painful, and the present is worse. The future could very well be non existent.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" she asks me today. I'm taken off guard, but relieved that she's speaking first.

"No, but it sounds very interesting." She didn't say mauled by a bear, or even scratched, so I'm able to listen to her speak without worry. I'm surprised by her ability to tell the story in such a way that I feel real fear, and then suddenly I'm actually laughing. She captivates me with just the simple story of a girl who wanted some honey.

On the second day, I notice the dark, wispy little girl from District 11 has begun to follow us. When we saw her on the screen watching the recaps of the reapings, I thought the dark-skinned little girl looked 10. Up close, I can see I was wrong. She can't be more than 9. I heard the boy from her district call her Rue once. The name seems to suit her.

"I think we have a shadow," I tell Katniss. When she doesn't answer, I find myself adding, "I think her name's Rue."

"What can we do about it?" she asks sharply. I'm surprised, but then I put it together. She's so small. I shudder, imagining a fight between her and the goliath from District 1. She must make Katniss think of Primrose.

"Nothing to do," I reply, "Just making conversation." But now I wish I hadn't brought the little girl to her attention. I'm only causing her more pain.

Back in our living quarters Haymitch and Effie are on hyperdrive, grilling us non stop on anything from the other tributes skills, to who sat with who at lunch. While I don't miss their constant arguments, or Haymitch's constant attachment to his drinks, I almost wish they'd calm down a bit, find a happy medium.

"Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink," I tell Katniss, half seriously, as we walk to our rooms on the second night. She laughs briefly, a rare smile pulling at her lips. Then suddenly she stiffens, shaking her head slightly, as if confused.

"Don't. Don't let's pretend when no one's around," she says.

My breath catches momentarily, then I sigh. "Alright Katniss."

I lie in bed for hours that night, trying to plan a strategy for training tomorrow, and giving myself a migraine over the jigsaw puzzle that is Katniss Everdeen.


End file.
